Look Both Ways

by Carol J. Perry

  “I use Bob’s Delivery,” she said. “Most of us dealers do. He’s good.”

  “Yes,” I said. “He delivered the bureau I bought from Shea.” I ran my hand across the curvy back of one of the chairs. “I suppose I should ask how much this is going to cost.”

  She mentioned a price in the four-figure range, and I nodded my agreement. “Was that the bureau she got from the Hampton estate?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said, surprised. “How did you guess?”

  “I was with her when she bid on it. She bought several things from there. Kinda high price she paid for that bureau, I thought. I mean, I thought so until I found out about the secret compartments.” She shook her head. “Shea and Gary were both high rollers when it came to getting good merchandise. Too rich for my blood. I guess you paid a pretty price for it?”

  I nodded. “I did. But I wanted it because I had one just like it when I was a little girl.”

  I followed her to the cash register and made out a check. She cocked her head to one side and, with a half-smile, asked, “So, was Helena’s pink diamond inside?”

  That made me laugh. “I’m afraid not. Shea looked in all the compartments before I got it. No diamonds.”

  Delivery of my table, chairs, and dishes was promised for the following day, and as I shook hands with Jenny and left the shop, I mentally checked off number one on my to-do list. Not bad. Two down. Two to go. Enough shopping for one day. I headed for home.

  I parked the ’Vette in the garage, noting that Aunt Ibby’s Buick was missing. That wasn’t surprising. Although she’s semiretired from Salem’s main library, she still put in several hours a week there, helping out and training staff. O’Ryan greeted me at the back door entrance with happy “mmrupps” and playful claw-sheathed taps on my ankles.

  “Well, you’re in a good mood,” I told him. “Me too.” The big cat scampered up the stairs ahead of me and sat patiently beside the door to my apartment while I fished the key from my purse.

  Once inside, O’Ryan and I hurried through the empty expanse of my living room, my heels and O’Ryan’s claws tap-tapping on the new hardwood floors, and emerged in the kitchen.

  “Guess I can return the borrowed table and chairs and make room for my new ones,” I told the cat. “Wait till you see them. Clear Lucite. You won’t be able to hide underneath. We can see right through it.”

  O’Ryan stuck out a pink tongue and strolled into the bedroom, then looked back at me from the doorway. I knew what he was thinking. As soon as I said “see right through it” out loud, I’d thought of the same thing—the blackened mirror glass under the center section of the bureau. The swirling colors and the pinpoints of light were waiting beneath the hinged panel, and I knew there was a message there that I was supposed to see—whether I wanted to or not.

  I followed the cat.

  The roses in the bouquet Pete had given me were just beginning to open. I inhaled their fragrance as, with O’Ryan walking behind me, I carried the vase to the kitchen and put it on the counter. Then together the cat and I returned to the bedroom and faced the bureau. I tossed the lace runner onto the bed.

  “Here goes,” I said and lifted the panel.

  The colors and the lights swirled, then quickly faded. I saw a long sandy beach. Waves lapped gently at the shore, and in the distance I saw a crumbling stone wall. Beyond that, far down the beach, I could make out the figure of a woman. Her back was to me as she picked up a stick and tossed it. A small gray dog ran ahead of her and retrieved it. She knelt in the sand, patted the dog, and tossed the stick again. The action was repeated several times, until the woman and the dog were reduced to tiny, faraway dots.

  “Is that all?” I said aloud. The image disappeared abruptly, and I found myself looking once again at the ruined mirror.

  I closed the panel and sat on the foot of the bed, staring blankly at the bureau and wondering about what I’d just seen. What had I just seen? It certainly was by far the most pleasant scene my gazing “gift” had ever presented. But what did it mean? Who was the woman? She was too far away for me to tell if she was anyone I knew. Where was the beach? It could be anywhere. Here in Salem? Back in Florida? Maybe not Florida. No palm trees. But then again, I hadn’t seen any trees—just sand, water, a crumbling wall, and a woman and a dog.

  At that moment I wished there was someone with me . . . someone I could share this experience with, but I was alone in the big house, except for the cat. Actually, I knew there were just two people in the whole world I could share it with. Aunt Ibby and River were the only ones who knew about the gazing thing. Aunt Ibby was at the library, and it was still too early in the day to call River.

  I wandered into the kitchen and heated a mug of leftover coffee in the microwave. The refrigerator yielded only a wilted salad and half of the apple pie. I chose a slice of pie, gave it the microwave treatment, added a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and told myself that the combination of fruit and dairy equaled a healthy snack. Hours of the day stretched ahead of me. I didn’t feel like watching TV and hadn’t brought any books upstairs yet. I wasn’t in the mood to tackle any more items on my list, so what to do? I could do some grocery shopping, but that didn’t hold much appeal at the moment, either.

  Newspaper clippings! The articles from the Salem News that Aunt Ibby had given me were in the top drawer of the bureau. I’d spend my time learning more about the former owners of my bureau.

  O’Ryan was already heading for the bedroom by the time I swallowed the last bite of pie. How does that cat know what I’m going to do before I do it? I retrieved the sheaf of articles from the bureau and returned to the kitchen. After heating up another mug of coffee, I sat at the table and began to read the first article in the pile, dated five years earlier.

  The headline read POLICE SEEK TRENT’S GIRLFRIEND. A woman known as Daphne Trent, alleged to be the girlfriend of accused murderer Tommy Trent, is wanted for questioning by Salem police. Lead detective Pete Mondello announced this morning that Daphne Trent, who for several years had been accepted as Tommy Trent’s sister, may have information relevant to the murder of Helena Trent. Mondello emphasized that Ms. Trent is not suspected of wrongdoing relative to the death of Mrs. Trent. Ms. Trent, whose last known address was the Trent family estate, is believed to still be in the Greater Salem area.

  So Pete was lead detective on the case. He didn’t tell me that. Did they find Daphne? What did she know about Helena’s death?

  “This is like reading a mystery novel,” I told the cat. “Except it all really happened, right here in Salem.”

  O’Ryan, with a warning “mrrow,” leapt into my lap and, putting his front paws on the edge of the card table, seemed to study the paper in front of us. One paw shot out, and he moved the top page aside and revealed the next article. This one had a color photo of Helena and Daphne standing together at a Junior League fashion show where the two had modeled evening wear.

  “What pretty women,” I murmured, looking from one to the other. Helena wore a low-cut, formfitting pink sequined gown. On a gold chain around her neck was what I guessed must be the famous pink diamond. Daphne wore a similar sparkling blue dress, which complemented her blond good looks.

  My gaze wandered to the headline—ALLEGED KILLER’S GIRLFRIEND CLAIMS FRIENDSHIP WITH VICTIM. Daphne Trent responded this morning to a request by the Salem Police Department to answer questions regarding the death of Helena Trent. According to sources, Ms. Trent denied any knowledge of the circumstances leading to the death of Helena Trent, or of the murder itself. She claimed that she and Helena Trent were the best of friends, despite her secret relationship with Trent’s husband. ‘I loved Helena,’ she said, ‘and I hated that Tommy and I were always lying to her. She was so kind to me. Even after she found out about Tommy and me, she said she didn’t hate me.’ Salem police reiterated that Daphne Trent is not suspected of any wrongdoing in the matter. Several witnesses have verified that on the evening of the murder Ms. Trent was at a charity fund-raise
r, in the company of Mrs. Helena Trent’s stepson, John David Hampton III.

  I put my coffee mug down beside the stack of papers. “I wonder if Pete was the one who questioned her.” I spoke aloud to the cat on my lap. Sometimes it seemed as though he understood every word, and sometimes, in his own way, he did answer questions.

  This was one of those times.

  Out shot the paw again. This time he flipped a couple of pieces of paper onto the floor, seemed to study the one he’d revealed, then curled up on my lap and began to purr. It took me a moment to find the short paragraph near the bottom of the page.

  I read the headline—AIRTIGHT ALIBIS FOR ALLEGED KILLER’S GIRLFRIEND AND HAMPTON HEIR—before glancing down the page. According to Salem police detective Pete Mondello, Daphne Trent and John David Hampton III were present at a charity auction sponsored by the North Shore Patrons of the Arts on the evening of the death of Mr. Hampton’s stepmother, Helena Trent. Numerous witnesses have verified the presence of the couple at the event. Tommy Trent, the husband of the deceased, is at present the only suspect in the case and remains in police custody on suspicion of murder. Trent is being held on one million dollars bail.

  “He could have told me that he was lead detective on that case when we talked about it,” I complained to the apparently sleeping cat. “Why does he keep things from me?”

  I knew the answer, of course. He’s a cop. He’s supposed to keep quiet about police work. What was my excuse?

  CHAPTER 9

  Late afternoon shadows had stretched across my windowsills and spilled onto the floor when Aunt Ibby’s gentle tap-tap sounded on my door. “Maralee? Come on downstairs and have a bite of supper with me.”

  I opened the door and hugged her. “I’d love to,” I said. “I have such a lot to tell you.”

  We walked downstairs together, O’Ryan leading the way. It felt good to enter the dear familiar surroundings of my childhood home after leaving the stark setting of my own new living space.

  “I hope I can make my apartment as attractive as this,” I said, arriving in the long fireplaced living room, with its tall windows facing Winter Street. “Everything looks so perfect.”

  “Nonsense,” she declared. “That’s just because there are fond memories attached to the old place. The couch needs reupholstering, the carpet is frayed, and O’Ryan—that naughty boy—has been sharpening his claws on the wing chairs.” She shook her finger in the direction of the cat, who calmly groomed long whiskers. “You’re looking at it through the eyes of love, Maralee. Once you get things organized in your place, you’re going to love it just as much.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “Anyway, I have a new table and chairs and dishes coming tomorrow. I think that’ll be a good start.”

  “Come on into the kitchen and tell me all about your day,” she said. “I’ve made a lovely antipasto and your favorite veal Parmesan. We’ll have a nice glass of wine first, and you can tell me everything.”

  That was exactly what I’d wanted to do all day. I hardly knew where to begin. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll start with my visit with Mr. Pennington.”

  “I do hope Rupert was able to help you. Was he?”

  “He sure was. I start tomorrow as property manager for the summer theater stage productions. They’re doing three plays, and just as you said, I’ll be working with a pretty slim budget, but I’m looking forward to it.”

  She smiled and poured white wine into delicate stemmed crystal glasses. “You always did enjoy a challenge, dear. You’ll be a wonderful property manager.”

  “Darn,” I said, sipping the wine. “I should have bought glassware, too.”

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “Now tell me more.”

  I told her about my visit to Jenny’s Antiques and about the Lucite kitchen set and the Russel Wright dishes. “Jenny was apparently acquainted with Shea Tolliver,” I said, “and she knows Gary Campbell, Shea’s ex-partner, too.”

  “Really? What does Jenny think about this Gary person being in the shop just before you found the poor woman dead?”

  “I didn’t tell her I was the one who found the body. She can’t believe he’d hurt Shea. Says that Shea told her Gary was trying to get her to forgive him . . . to take him back into the business.”

  Aunt Ibby gave an unladylike snort. “What a nerve! Imagine. After threatening her severely enough so that a judge granted a restraining order. They don’t hand those out easily, you know.”

  “I know they don’t. And I don’t know what to think about Gary Campbell. I guess we just have to trust the police to figure it all out.”

  “Does Pete say anything about the man?”

  “No. But you know Pete. He doesn’t make small talk about police business. Did you know he was the lead detective on the Helena Trent case? I read it in one of those articles you gave me. He never even mentioned it when I told him about the bureau that came from Helena’s house.”

  My aunt began to serve the colorful salad. “He might have thought it would sound like bragging if he told you.”

  “I guess that’s true. He doesn’t talk about himself much at all.” I thought about that for a minute and sipped my wine. “And I certainly don’t tell him everything about myself, either.”

  She frowned. “Like about the gazing?”

  “Exactly. And it happened again today. I looked into that blackened mirror and saw . . . something.”

  “Oh dear.” She opened the oven and transferred the cutlets to a serving plate. “Was it anything . . . frightening?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “Actually, it was quite a pleasant scene. I just haven’t the slightest idea what it’s supposed to mean.”

  She put the steaming platter on the table and sat down. “Tell me about it.”

  I described the beach and the waves breaking on the shore. I told her about the crumbling wall and the woman and the small dog in the distance. “The woman threw the stick, and the dog retrieved it. Then she knelt and patted him and threw the stick again. The same action was repeated again and again, until they were little, faraway specks. Any idea what it might mean?”

  “Not a clue,” she said. “Could you recognize her? Anyone we know?”

  “She was too far away. Anyway, she had her back to me. I couldn’t see her face at all.”

  “Maybe River can help you figure it out. You should call her.”

  “I will. This is delicious.” I felt relaxed and happy there in the familiar kitchen, sharing a meal with the woman who’d raised me. “Pretty soon I’ll invite you to my place for dinner.”

  “I shall look forward to it,” she said with a smile. “Now, tell me some more about your visit with Rupert.”

  Aunt Ibby and Rupert Pennington had begun “keeping company” the previous winter. At first I hadn’t been thrilled to see my boss and my aunt dating, but they seemed to have a lot in common, and they were each obviously happy in the relationship.

  “Well, as I told you,” I said, “the summer theater group will be presenting three plays in the student theater at the Tabby. Mr. Pennington said that he had me in mind for the job of property manager all along.”

  “That must please you. What plays are they planning to do?”

  “I don’t know yet. He’s going to give me the scripts and general set outlines tomorrow. He said he’s been gathering up some props for the first play himself, so that gives me a head start.”

  “I’m sure you’re about to have a truly productive summer, Maralee,” she said. “Now, how about some nice strawberry ice cream for dessert?”

  “Sounds good. And I’m going to take your advice and call River.”

  We cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher together. “I think I’ll sleep in my old room tonight,” I said. “I’ll set the alarm. Don’t want to be late on the first day of my new job.”

  “Good idea. Why don’t you just spend the evening here? Rupert and I are going to a poetry reading later, but I’ll be back early, and you can tell me what River says about yo
ur new vision.”

  I glanced around at the comfortable surroundings, thought about the near-barren space upstairs, and decided to do as she suggested. Besides, O’Ryan was already curled up on a needlepoint cushion on the window seat. “I think I will,” I told her. “O’Ryan and I will just play couch potatoes in your living room.”

  Aunt Ibby went to her room to change for her date, while I opted for my trusty old gray sweats and a seat on the couch, which may or may not have needed reupholstering. O’Ryan ran for the front door before the bell chimed, announcing Mr. Pennington’s arrival. Aunt Ibby, looking lovely in gray silk, waited as usual for him to ring twice so that she wouldn’t appear anxious. He stepped inside the foyer and the two, looking so darned cute together, peeked in at me through the arched living room doorway.

  “I won’t be late, Maralee,” she said. “You and O’Ryan have a pleasant evening.”

  “Have fun, you two. See you in the morning, Mr. Pennington.” I picked up the cat, and we watched from the window as the school director’s brown Lincoln pulled away from the curb.

  We’d just resumed our spots on the couch when my phone vibrated. The caller ID showed River North’s name. “I was just about to call you,” I told her.

  “What’s going on?” she said, sounding a bit uneasy. “You’ve been on my mind all afternoon, so I read the cards again. A couple of cards turned up next to yours that haven’t been there before.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. The Ace of Wands is close to you. It means the beginning of an enterprise. Like something of a creative nature might be offered to you. Does that make sense?”

  “Sure does. What else?”

  “Okay. This one’s not so clear. The Knight of Wands is there, too. He’s a man, usually with blond hair and blue eyes. Ring a bell?”

  I immediately thought of Gary Campbell. “I guess I know lots of men who fit that description,” I admitted. “But yeah, there was a recent, um, encounter with one.”

  “You mean the blond guy who bumped into you at the antique store? Possible, but this one might be a friend of yours. He can be generous, but he can be cruel or brutal.”